Wednesday, May 31, 2006
or
Take Ten Hail Marys, And Call Me In The Morning
Zack and I went to Colorado this past weekend to visit his extended family and watch his brother, Robin, graduate. It was a good time, all told. His aunts are some of the most amusing women I've ever met, and they seem to like me, to boot.
However, gentle readers, I am now convinced that my bladder is cursed. CURSED! For every time I leave town to meet my boyfriend's (and now husband's) extended family, I contract a urinary tract infection. And this was no "ow it burns when I pee" UTI. Oh no. This was the "Shit, I didn't sleep at all last night because I was doubled over with kidney pain and fever chills" kind of UTI.
EVERY FUCKING TIME! It's not enough that I have to memorize the names and relationships of 294 people I've never met before, remember my table manners, hold in my cuss words, and refrain from grabbing Zack's ass. No. I have to suddenly come down with one of the most irritating feminine ailments known to humankind. Hey, In-laws! I just married your nephew! Bet you can't guess why my ureathra's on fire!
*SHAME*
I'm not a religious woman, but when I have a UTI, I suddenly find my Catholic roots. Every time I piss, I find myself involuntarily screaming "GOOD SWEET MOTHER OF GOD!" or "HOLY HANNAH!" or my personal favorite - "Jeh-HEE-zus aich CHRIST ALLMIGHTY! Phew. There has gotta be a Saint I can pray to.
It really really sucked. Thankfully, Aunt Patty was nice enough to take me to the doctor. I'm on the mend.
In other news, I spotted a truly uplifting banner in the Seventh Day Adventist church wherein Robin was Baptized on Friday night:
. . . ALL OVER YOUR FACE! I once was blind, but now I see.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
or
Dancing Sets Us Free
First, gentle readers, I would like to offer a disclaimer. I did not create Houseswitz. The opinions expressed in Housewitz are not necessarily a reflection of my opinions, or the opinions of my university. Or blogger. Or fuckin' anyone. I am not a crook. She was wearing a short skirt.
That said, I will admit that the following piece of media made me laugh out loud. If the government tries to keep a flash movie from the public, it has to be something really really good, right? Well, I'll let you decide for yourself.
WARNING: SHOCKING. POLITICALLY INCORRECT. LARKIN HAS POOR SPELLING.
And now, with out further ado, behold - Housewitz! Catch it while you still can.
*sigh* I just know this is going to bring me flack. But you know what? Deep down, I love the scent of infamy. It's good for my hit count!
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
or
Panic!
So I've been living the married life with Zack, spending my days in the townhouse recovering from the slings and arrows of Wash U. Today, I am sick. Weak. You know, that slow, viral, body ache. But that's alright. I don't have anything to do or anywhere I have to go. I can sleep all day, if I want to.
And I have. And it's good. Fuck everyone with an agenda. I'm in estevation.
I've put a thought or two towards writing my memoirs, but nothing serious as of yet. I don't know. Something tells me that the market would be perfect for them about now. Just LOOK at the shit that makes it on the New York Times bestseller list these days. All I'd have to do to ensure success is charm Oprah.
The city itself is mostly strip-mall, smeared on both sides of the freeway, punctuated by housing developments. Mostly army types live here, which is unsurprising, considering Fort Hood is one of the area's central features.
Zack has block leave from June 3rd until June 18th. On the last day of his leave, he and I will go see Panic At The Disco in Austin. If you haven't listened to them yet, I HIGHLY reccomend them. They weave energetic melodies with lilting beats without a single weak spot. Accoustic guitar and electronic synthesizer meld delightfully with the lead singer's boyish tenor as he patters through intricate, thoughtful, entertaining lyrics. Sublime! DO check them out, no matter what sort of music you enjoy. They sound like the bastard child of a swing band, Cake, Darude, and The Dresden Dolls.
I'm very excited.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
or
A Bungalo Built For Two
I've relocated, gentle readers, to Killeen, Texas, just outside the gates of Fort Hood. Why? To be with my new husband until he deploys in July. I won't go into great detail at the moment, but consider yourself updated. Here's the CNN version:
- There is a lot of cactus in central Texas
- The chocolate-brown carpet was in style when they installed it, but when they installed it, it wasn't chocolate-brown. JUST KIDDING!
- Men in uniform everywhere. Am I dead?
- Women in uniform everywhere. See above.
- Transexuals in droves, as far as the eye can see.
- Not really.
- Jack Daniels is a liar and a cheat. If anyone sees him wandering around, tell him I'm waiting up late for him to come home.
- Scrabble is my bitch.
- GOOSENECK!
- Guard Duty: not just for bleary-eyed soldiers anymore.
- Cheap Argentinian real estate is where it's at.
- Thrice rocks very large balls. Corn syrup does not.
- The human crotch is the warmest object in the solar system.
That is all. More updating when Zack's not home. Bonus: videos of me trying on all of his clothing! Anything to keep you sick bastards happy.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Look at me LOOK at ME Look at MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
LOOK! Look what I can do! GWWRAAAHHH! Nyar! LOOK AT ME! *jumps* LOOOOOOOK!
*deep breath*
*holds it*
*exhales with force*
That is all, gentle readers. Return to your normal daily activities.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
or
Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here
Just in time for summer, I have created a guide to my desktop. You know, in case anyone ever needs to use my computer. (Like I'd ever let you near it. The really good pr0n is hidden for a reason, jackass.)
But in all seriousness, I have discovered that most people find my system of organization - i.e. total chaos - somewhat perplexing. Hopefully these helpful diagrams will set you straight.
Lower Right Corner
Lower Center
The Icon Sea, part I
The Icon Sea, part II
The Icon Sea, part III
(Advanced users only)
Remember to wear your mosquito repellant. This WILL be on the final.
or
Continental Drift
I know what you're thinking. How can I be expected to find time to blog when my life is such a whirlwind of self-aggrandizing anecdotes. I know, I know. But somehow, gentle readers, I have found the time to grace you once again with my ruminations.
And a moving GIF of me smoking hooka. Tee hee! Look at that! Cartoon Larkin gets an apple-flavored nicotine fix!
Suck it. Suck it like your mother used to!
But seriously, moving out of the old apartment and into the new one is proving difficult. I have to actually, you know, work. Put stuff in boxes. My worldly possessions - the ungrateful pieces of crap they are - apparently don't pack themselves. *sigh*
You know, if only I were independantly wealthy, I could just throw everything away and shop for new stuff whenever I needed something. Or hire slave boys to pack it for me. Somebody order me a fuckin' palanquin!
Saturday, May 06, 2006
or
The Ultimate Showdown
There is nothing so thrilling, gentle readers, as using one's own body as a test subject. For starters, it allows for perfect sympathy and understanding of the subject's experience. It also eliminates the need for consent forms and any chance of a lawsuit resulting from mistreatment. Screw true scientific rigor. This is SCIENCE with all capital letters - the kind of reckless experimentation of which dreams are realized and formalities are broken. BRING IT ON!
So I started Atkins. Until this point, I had been subsisting on plant products only - a radical vegan diet adopted for the fuck of it. It was rather nice. But its time has passed. Only meat now, and tons of it.
Well, fish to be more exact. And cheese. Lots of cheese. Lite silken tofu. Low-carb over-processed this-and-that. Shirataki noodles (AT LONG LAST!). The occasional shot of hard liquor. And a metric fuck-ton of diet soda.
Why? Because I CAN. And I'd never (knowingly) been in Ketosis before.
KETOSIS: a stage in metabolism occurring when the liver has been depleted of stored glycogen. Energy from fat is mobilized to the liver and used to synthesize glucose (a process called gluconeogenesis) from lactic acid, glucogenic amino acids, and glycerol carbon substrates. Ketones are also produced during this fasting state, and are burned throughout the body.
Ketones are a means of making the energy of fat available in water soluble form, and to displace as much burning of glucose as possible. Glucose must be conserved in the fasting state because parts of the brain, retina, kidney and red blood cells depend exclusively on it for energy, and in order to conserve muscle protein which must be catabolized to provide the glucogenic amino acid substrate for synthesis of glucose. During the initial stages of starvation the brain does not burn ketones, since they are an important substrate for lipid synthesis in the brain. But after several days of starvation, the brain transitions to burning ketones in order to more directly utilize the energy from the fat stores that are being depended upon, and to reserve the glucose only for its absolute needs, thus slowing the depletion of the body's protein store in the muscles. The brain retains a residual need for glucose, because ketones can only provide energy aerobically via mitochondria. In the long thin neurons, much of the metabolically active cellular membrane is too far from the nearest mitochondria and must derive its energy anaerobically (without oxygen) from glucose without the assistance of mitochondria.
The breath of people in a ketagenic state commonly contains acetone, detectable as a sweet smell that may be mistaken for ethyl alcohol.
Yes. My breath does, indeed, smell of ketones. Some of my coworkers and compatriots have accused me of binge drinking the night before. But that is simply not the case. I'm merely running on Empty, even though all I do is eat.
My brain is swiftly adapting to my body's ketogenic state. The sensation is rather like the dull haze of mild opiate pain-killers. I am slightly euphoric and detatched, a little insensitive to certain sensations, and tinged with a feeling of well-being. My muscles feel a little weak sometimes. I expect that will get better as time goes on. The scale says I am the same weight (it initially dipped down) though I think I look like i've lost fat/gained muscle. I have, after all, been lifting weights throughout.
And in case I've effectively bored the shit out of you with my discussion of metabolic processes, here's THE ULTIMATE SHOWDOWN!!!!!11
Monday, May 01, 2006
or
Your Car Isn't The Only Thing That's Hybrid
You may or may not know, gentle readers, that I am an isomniac. Every once in a while, the sleepless nights compound into a psychotic break, and I begin to consider doing something about my affliction.
Seeing as I don't have any dicipline, medication seems like the way to go. Ambien, I thought. What about Ambien? All the cool kids are doing it. They advertise it on TV, so it must be safe, right?
Welllll apparently Ambien has a few side effects that no one could have predicted. Somnambulism, for one. Nocturnal eating for two.
One woman buttered and ate a carton's worth of cigarettes. Another consumed several pounds of raw bacon. Another said she gained 100lbs before she realized that her Ambien was making her gorge herself at night.
And let us not forget the periodic reports of Sleep Driving. Sound like a good time yet?
************
The times are changing, gentle readers, and new breeds of subculture are on the rise. You have to be prepared. Luckily, I've done the research for you. While stepping out in this modern world, you should keep your eyes open for members of the following cliques:
Yippie - environmentalists with fat trust funds, successful stock portfolios, or Daddy's credit cards (how old-school!) at their disposal. Buy groceries at Trader Joes or Whole Foods, including their favorite environmentally responsible, organic, all natural toothpaste at 8 bucks a pop. Drive expensive hybrid cars to save gas. Make very gallant attempts to become one with nature, such as week-long forays into the woods with a pack full of the latest techological advances in camping. Frown upon anyone who prefers practicality to "ecological responsibility." Will bitch about the treatment of cows in commercial dairy farms, but won't lend you 50 cents to switch to soy latte.
Slackster - if it looks like a hipster, smells like a hipster, and slouches like a hipster, it is! Unless it's a slackster. Slacksters don't DO anything for a living, as opposed to nothing of consequnce. As a result, their edge is somewhat lacking. They do their best to invoke bohemian cool, but how urban chic can you be when you sleep on your parents' day-bed? NOTE: some may claim to be "writers" or "musicians," which really just means that they smoke a lot of weed. Subtle investigation will swiftly overturn the farce.
Gunk - the built-up byproduct of dark culture a la Hot Topic. A soulless amalgam of goth and punk elements. Look for the kids too young to go clubbing, wearing slogan tees with bondage pants and ten billion incoherant accessories. I am a vampire. God save the queen. Can't sleep, clowns will eat me. They lack classical make-up training. Jarringly mainstream musical taste.
Druggie Howzer - really really REALLY smart teenagers who do a LOT of illegal drugs. Take the SAT on 5 hits of acid, and pull a 1560. Can roll a joint with one hand while discussing differential equations. They know not only where to score really good Ecstasy, but what it's doing to their brain, chemically, at any given moment. Synthesize various chemicals in their kitchens. Sure, they'd be smarter if they weren't constantly killing brain cells - just as a McLaren F1 would be faster without breaks - but seriously, who's counting? Should one regard them with pity, awe, or both? In the end, Druggie Howzers inevitably propell themselves to the height of success, thereby forcing themselves to give up the lifestyle, or sink tongue-first into permanent obscurity. Would somebody please pass the hashish?
